


Diversions

by eve11



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Ficathon, Gen, Humor, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eve11/pseuds/eve11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Callista Kryton Foundation fundraiser gala went smoothly all night, until half-past fifteen when the motion alarms went off in Corridor seven of the Eastern estate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diversions

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfilling the year of 2004, for the prompt "Eight and Charley trying to get somewhere under false pretenses."

The Callista Kryton Foundation fundraiser gala went smoothly all night, until half-past fifteen when the motion alarms went off in Corridor seven of the Eastern estate.

Four burly guards barged in through the security doors, helmets secure and weapons hefted, their black polymer armor glistening under the flood lights that illuminated the intruder. For her part, she turned around with a squeak of surprise, the rustling noises from her voluminous skirts echoing off the polished cherry paneled walls. She raised perfectly manicured hands, disturbing not a single swept-up hair on her head in the process.

"Oh." Her mouth, accented red in a face pale from talc, rounded to a perfect 'O'. "Please don't shoot! I'm dreadfully sorry. I gather this isn't the way to the powder room." 

"This is a restricted area, Miss," said the squadron leader. "Dame Callista's private corridors. I'll need some identification."

"Oh." Her mouth rounded again, covered by a dainty hand. "But where are my manners? Of course."

Two of the guards who had started to flank out to form a perimeter, were instead caught up in a hasty greeting line, one after the other.

"Charlotte Elizabeth Wendell Purvis-Worthington Tate," she announced with a hurried curtsey to each one, looking wide-eyed around the corridor, babbling and bobbing her head as though it was filled with nothing but air. "Of the Cygnus Seven Wendell Purvis-Worthingtons and _do get on with it_ as all our land and holdings are subsidiary to the Tate Starship Limited Liability Corporation on Greater Pollux, under the flag of the _what are you waiting for_ reformed church of the Tenth Day Adventists." 

"No, miss," said the guard, flustered. "I'll need biodata or your invitation chit--"

"It's ever so much to remember, isn't it?" For lack of anything better to do, the girl curtseyed again. "It took me ages to learn! But don't worry, _hurry up now_ and you can just call me Charley." 

There followed a small huff of a sound that managed to be simultaneously mercurial and indignant. The guards each looked to the other's reflective visors in a momentary wonder of who had broken protocol, and then a shout came from the same direction as the cocktail noises coming from the gala ballrooms.

"Charley!" A long-haired man in evening dress hastened toward them, wringing his hands in concern. "There you are!" 

The girl smiled. "You see? That's what everyone calls me. This is my escort, Do-- . . .--obby," she finished after a barely discernible shake of the man's head and a palpable pause. 

The man narrowed his eyes at her, before removing his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his brow solicitously. "What have I told you about wandering off?"

The guard finally regained his composure. "Your invitation chits, I must inisist!"

"Right, of course." The man proffered a slim wallet and waved it at them. "I'm afraid we're old fashioned for that sort of thing." 

"We're reformed Tenth Day Adventists on Pollux, as I said," the girl offered as the paper invitation was put to scrutiny. "No ident chits. Nothing under the skin; its against our religion." 

Her escort looked down at her in mild surprise. "That's very good, isn't it?"

Satisfied, the guard snapped the wallet shut and handed it back to him. "Sorry to alarm you. Guests are welcome in the ballroom and on the grounds and gardens, but Lady Callista requests you respect her privacy when it comes to the Eastern estate." 

"Certainly," said the man, and turned to the girl. "Are we through here?"

"Just now, Dobby," the girl said around her insistent smile. 

"We'll have a talk later about the names," the man muttered under his breath, before speaking up again. "Let's return to the gala now, Charley. Places like this do unnerve me. Seems like even the walls have eyes." 

"Powder rooms are down corridor twelve," was all the guard said, and they were ushered away back to the ballrooms.

**

"Did you," the Doctor said, "or did you not, name me after a house elf?"

"Well, I was about to call you 'Doctor', and then I remembered you said we shouldn't use titles of authority on account of keeping the guards' . . . guard, down." Charley shivered in the pre-dawn chill. The music had died down hours ago, and the guests had retired to hotels on the Western estate. The garden access door in front of them was solidly shut. Deadlock sealed, as it had been when they had discovered it earlier that evening and deduced that it led straight to Dame Callsita's private corridors.

"House. Elf," the Doctor repeated. 

"I panicked!" Charley crossed her arms, her breath misting, and wished she still had the warmth of her petticoats instead of just boots and practical bloomers. "But it all worked out, didn't it?"

The Doctor eyed the door. "Remains to be seen."

"And anyway, how do you even know that?" Charley asked. "Honestly, have you read every obscure children's book in the TARDIS library?"

"Ah, Charley. When we get back to the TARDIS, remind me that we must pay a visit to twenty-first century London." A loud _clank_ echoed from behind the door, surprising them, and the Doctor clapped his hands, un-gloved despite the cold. "There we are!" 

The door creaked and groaned open.

"Sweet Foundation," C'rizz said, poking his head out. "It's freezing out here."

"No troubles on your end?" the Doctor asked. 

"No," said C'rizz. "Only the first few feet of the corridor was alarmed. I hid until the guards changed shift before looking for the door."

"C'rizz, you were brilliant," Charley said as they hurried inside behind him. "I knew you could mimic that paneling and make it past them; I just knew it."

"You didn't have to rush me," C'rizz said. "If they had seen me . . . they had guns, you know!"

"I was running out of things to say! I--"

"She panicked," the Doctor said. "I was named after a house elf."

"I'm never going to live that down, am I?" muttered Charley.

"What's a house elf?" asked C'rizz.

"Water under the bridge," said the Doctor, ignoring the look of confusion from C'rizz. "Now it's time we learn what Dame Callista's been funding with her fundraisers." 

He produced a glowing candle from his pocket, and led them both back into the dark.


End file.
